


Knit One, Purl Two

by Meredydd



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 01:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11325723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meredydd/pseuds/Meredydd
Summary: Inspired by theThe Red Headed Leagueoriginal Holmes story, this is set in the Beeblock verse, and has a bit of a twist on the original. Molly Hooper is struggling to make ends meet, so she takes a well paying, albeit very part time job on her days off. Too bad it seems to be a scam. With Sherlock out of town, she turns to DI Lestrade for help figuring out just what the Hell is going on.





	Knit One, Purl Two

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Marta_Bee](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Marta_Bee).



“Detective Inspector? Detective Inspector, are you home?”

“Molly!” 

 

DI Lestrade—Greg, he’d insisted some time ago but she just couldn’t quite bring herself to do it yet-- swung out from the hallway, sweaty and dusty and rumpled and altogether… Well. Molly smiled and folded her hands neatly at her waist, trying her very best not to look lower than the DI’s eyes. Definitely not at his throat, with the drop of sweat running down towards his chest, plastered with the sweaty white t-shirt and… She felt her face go a very unflattering shade of tomato as Lestrade’s brows crept up and his lips crimped in a barely suppressed smile. _Damn it, Molly!_ She sniffed, jerked her chin up in her best _I am a professional, you will respect me!_ manner and tried again. “I’m so sorry for bothering you on your day off, but I have a bit of a problem. It’s… well, it’s rather ridiculous,” she admitted, deflating slightly. “I just don’t know who else to turn to!”

Lestrade padded ( _Oh, God, even his feet are sexy!_ Molly groaned mentally) barefoot from the hallway towards his open front door, his amused expression dropping away. “Molls, if it’s something criminal, I technically can’t do anything about it right now. You’d need to call your local station...” He stopped just out of arm’s reach and leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest.

_Look at his eyes, look at his eyes, don’t you dare look at his chest again, Margaret Eleanor Hooper!_ “It’s not that. Not… well, not really? I’m not entirely sure, is the thing! And I can see I’ve disturbed you and I’m so sorry, I had no idea you were DIYing on your day off so I’ll just go and--”

“Molly!” He reached out and snagged her sleeve with his fingers, stopping her from scurrying away. His smile was back, and, she was relieved to see, wasn’t amused or pitying. She knew him well enough to discern the difference now. Mostly. Usually. “Why would you know? It’s not like I took out an ad to announce it. I’m just clearing out the spare room, turning it into an office.” It was his turn to blush, his cheeks turning a ruddy hue under his tan. “Well, at least put up some shelves. I think my entire living room is the office these days, all the files I bring home...” He trailed off, dropping his hand from her arm and tucking back into his arms-folded posture. “You came all the way across town to talk to me, so it must be important.”

“I tried calling,” she blurted, “but you never answered. And I was stopping by to see my sister this morning anyway, so I figured I’d come by and make an arse of myself.” His burst of laughter was a balm to her already jangling nerves. She felt herself relax a bit, her jitters retreating a few steps. “If I’m going to be honest, I tried calling Sherlock about this but he laughed at me. I thought that maybe someone who didn’t have their head up their bum might be a little more helpful.”

Greg grinned. “That’s me then! Says it on my cards, doesn’t it? Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade, Head’s Not Up His Arse!”

“Wordy, for a business card,” Molly commented, following Greg as he motioned for her to come in. Shutting the door behind her, she trailed after him into the kitchen, which seemed to be the only spot in his small semi-detached that was free of sawdust, drop cloths or buckets of paint. “Your DIY office seems to be taking over the entire house,” she noted.

“Well, I got the spare room painted and noticed the living room looked dingy...” he trailed off, shrugged, and buried his face in the fridge, sorting out some drinks. “I’ve got water, beer, cider, can make some coffee, have water in the kettle for some tea...”

“Water,” she murmured, accepting the bottle and taking a seat at Greg’s table across from him. “Right. Well, the thing is, I think I’m being had.”

Greg took a long, slow pull from his own drink and settled back against his chair, regarding her with what Molly privately called his Detective Inspector Sexy expression. She bit her lip, doing her best not to blurt out her entire, rambling story under his scrutiny. Finally, he blew out a breath, leaned forward again and sighed. “Boyfriend problems?” he asked, sounding suddenly tired. “I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask for advice on that front, Molls.”

“What? No! No, definitely not a boyfriend thing,” she said, voice suddenly shrill. She had the horrible feeling she was about to burst into a panic-giggle so she took a very long drink of water, refusing to look at Greg until the cold had soothed the sensation from her throat and she could trust herself to open her mouth without verbal diarrhea about her lack of a love life since Tom. She finally glanced up at him to find he was staring at her steadily, narrow-eyed, his fingers working the label off his water bottle as he considered her. “Um, no, definitely not a boyfriend thing,” she repeated. “I think my boss is trying to screw me over. Well, my ex-boss. Kind of boss.” 

“Wait, at the hospital? Molly, you really need to talk to human resources, not me.”

“Not the hospital. My part time job,” she admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed about what she was on the verge of admitting. “My hours at the hospital were cut, thanks to my ties with Sherlock. They finally got around to a disciplinary hearing back in June, and I’ve had my duties cut, my work is heavily supervised, and I have to take remedial courses in lab safety and hospital protocol.” She shrugged, following his lead and picking at her own bottle. “So I needed to take on extra jobs until my probationary period is over to cover bills since I’m earning a lot less right now. I’m working the front desk at the women’s center in Tooting, and I started teaching a fiber arts class at the senior rec center near Bart’s.”

“That pays? Sorry, it just sounds like both those things together wouldn’t nearly come up to what half your old salary was. Sorry to be crass like that, Molls.”

She shrugged. “It’s true. And that’s what brings me here. I think I’m being had. I mean, I’m not stupid, no matter what Sherlock seems to think. I just sort of leaped at the chance for a job that paid well, wasn’t too stressful, and was something I really enjoy doing.” She mimed knitting, meeting his gaze with a weak smile. “The senior center’s director offered me the position teaching a part time class there, Tuesdays and Thursdays on my days off from the hospital, a two hours class for some of the folks who go there. We’re working on a blanket project for the children’s hospital,” she added. “Christmas designs, mostly stars and the like, but a few with trees… Anyway, I showed up yesterday morning for my regular class, and the entire place was closed up. There was a note on the door saying they’d moved locations, which I thought was strange since there’d been no mention of it before and it’s not like you can just move an entire senior center over night.”

“Where’d they move it to?” Greg was all business, despite being sweaty and dusty. He shoved his water bottle aside and made an aborted reach for his notepad. “Right, not wearing work clothes. Just a sec!” Molly nodded, keeping her gaze forward and most definitely not watching out of the corner of her eyes as he went to a drawer in the kitchen and retrieved a small pad and a pen. Definitely not noticing how his jeans were just a shade snug and his t-shirt was sticking to his back. She drained the rest of her water as he came back to the table, doing her best to ignore the small smirk her shot her way as if he knew exactly what she most definitely had not been doing. “Okay, start at the top. Who hired you, where is this center exactly, all of that. Don’t worry about rambling,” he added, his grin flashing once more. “I’m used to Boy Wonder and his rants. I can follow you far more easily.”

Molly laughed under her breath. “Right. Well. I got a card in my locker at work, advertising the position at the senior center. I ignored it at first but, a few days after the card at work, I found one stuck in my door at home. I thought it was kind of weird, since there’s no outside access to my flat and whoever left it would’ve had to be buzzed in by someone else, and it was left while I was out. No one else had a card in their door.”

“Observant,” Greg murmured. 

“Well, it’s one of my strengths, isn’t it? Has to be, given my job. Though I must’ve lapsed a bit because I didn’t think there was anything really off about the position when I accepted it.” She hurried through the story, telling him about mentioning it to one of the ladies at the women’s center, debating the idea for a few days herself, and finally giving in and going down to apply. “Mr. Spaulding at the center hired me on the spot, once I showed him how I could knit and follow patterns. He said I was to be paid sixty pounds per hour.”

Greg whistled. “Four hours per week, that’s a nice chunk of change there, Molls.”

She nodded. “I guess I was so excited to be able to make ends meet again that I didn’t listen to that little voice in the back of my head telling me it was too good to be true. I worked there for a month and, yesterday, showed up to find they’d not only closed, they’d emptied the shop entirely.”

“Your supervisor at the hospital didn’t mind you taking on other jobs?”

She shook her head. “Dr. Ross didn’t care a whit, really. I mean, I don’t really talk to him much other than about the cases I’m working on and to answer his questions when he’s trying to catch me out on things, but he knew I’d taken on another job on my days off because he’d heard Edwina mention it back when I first accepted the position teaching the class. He made some comment about maybe it’d teach me responsibility and that was it.” 

“Sounds like a lovely man,” Greg muttered, making another note on his pad. “So, Molly, I have to ask… What do you think I can do here? It sounds like they’re a fly by night situation. If they were claiming to be supported by the council, you need to take it to them but if they were a private group, there’s really not much I can do. They paid you, right?” She nodded. “And you got all your checques?”

She felt her face go red again. “They paid me under the table,” she muttered. Greg clucked but didn’t scold her outright. “I just can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong, Greg!”

His eyes went wide, and his smile was back and bigger than before. “Finally!”

“What?”

“You called me Greg!”

Molly squeaked in surprise when he shoved back his chair and darted around the table, scooping her into a hug and a smacking kiss atop her head. “Oi!” she managed, laughing. “What’s that about?”

“Just was wondering how long it’d bloody take,” he laughed. He stepped away, smoothing his sweaty shirt and made a gesture to her blouse. “Sorry. I got you all mucky there.”

“Could be worse,” she said. “At least you’re not an exploding corpse. I’ve had enough for those for one week.”

Looking properly ill, Greg swiftly changed the topic back to Molly’s problem. “I really don’t know what I can do here, Molly, but, if you’d like, I’ll go take a look at the place. Just let me get cleaned up first, alright?” 

“Don’t let me keep you. I’ll head back to mine—I need to feed Toby soon anyway. Call me when you get to the center and I can meet you there.”

Greg protested and suggested picking her up instead. After a brief back and forth, Molly agreed and, pausing on his doorstep as he held the door for her, she looked back up at him and did her best not to give him yet another once-over. “Be careful. There’s a ton of roadwork near my flat. They started tearing up the pavement a few weeks ago and show no signs of stopping. Park across the road and I can come across to meet you.” They made a few quick arrangements and he promised to see her within the next few hours and made a vague mention of maybe grabbing a bite after. Molly just nodded, unwilling to read too much into it, just in case he was only being polite. Instead, she tripped her way down his front steps and, feeling a bit lighter than before, made her way to the high street to grab a taxi back to hers.

*** 

“It’s definitely closed.”

“I can see why you’re a detective inspector. Nothing gets past you.”

Greg shot her a look, but was smirking. “Smart arse.”

“Smart arse is above my pay grade these days. I’m afraid you’ll just have to settle for snippy.”

“Snippy it is,” he teased. “What’s got you in a huff?”

They stood before the closed, darkened senior center, the hand-written sign proclaiming it’s closure still taped to the front door. A smaller sign, secured to one of the large windows, announced that an antique dealer would be opening up shop there soon. “I’m just so mad at myself,” she admitted. “I feel like I was had for a fool. Besides,” she added. “What if this was illegal, Greg? What if I get in some sort of trouble?”

“You took the job in good faith, yeah? Did they give you a contract?”

“Boilerplate. Mostly about how I couldn’t teach the patterns to another class and about my pay being set and non negotiable.” Molly winced, adding, “Tripping over the stupid broken pavement in front of my flat didn’t help my mood any, though. I twisted my ankle on my way back home earlier.”

Wordlessly, he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. Molly stiffened for a second, but, slowly, relaxed against him, shifting her weight to relieve the pressure on her sore ankle. “Let’s go grab something to eat and see what we can sort out.”

“The Queen’s Cock is across from my flat. They do burgers,” Molly offered, not even bothering to blush any more at her local’s name. Greg, she noticed, looked amused. “I mean, if burgers are your thing.”

“Lead the way, Hop-along!”

“Oi!” Molly laughed, but they made it to Greg’s car down the block and she directed him to the pub back near her flat. They parked on one of the side streets and he insisted on helping her with his arm about her back again. Truth be told, the matter of the senior center did not come up during dinner, or during drinks afterwards. It didn’t come up again until he was helping her hobble across the street much later, several drinks in them both, and he was tutting over her swollen foot. “It didn’t seem so bad earlier,” Molly protested. “I’ll just call my GP in the morning and see when I can get in. It’s not an emergency—I have ice to put on it.”

“Let me help you up the stairs anyway,” Greg insisted. They picked their way through the broken up bits of pavement towards the front door of her building, Greg pausing and frowning down the block as they reached her steps. “This is a right mess. I can’t believe they’d let the crew leave it like this.”

“Ugh, the worst part is how late they go,” Molly groaned, fiddling with her key for the main door. “Wakes me up around midnight damn near every night! Sometimes they go till near dawn!”

Greg settled her against the door and took several steps out onto the pavement. “Overnight work? Has anyone complained?” he asked, squatting to peer at something between the broken chunks of cement. “Called the council or even tried to talk to the crew chief?”

“Mr. Kaiser, downstairs from me, tried to tell them to leave off a few weeks ago, and just come back during the day, but the foreman gave him a right bollocking and threatened him with one of the shovels.” Molly slipped, feeling the effects of too many ciders, and frowned thoughtfully as she braced herself in the doorway. “Greg, that’s illegal, isn’t it? Threatening someone like that?”

“Mmmmhmmm. What time do they usually start?” he asked, standing. “And do you have any coffee in?”

*** 

Molly stretched out on her sofa, feeling thick and muzzy as Greg leaned on her windowsill, staring down at the street below. The lights in her flat were off, save for the tiny blue nightlight on the way to the loo, and she was feeling absolutely disgusting. Between the greasy burger, the alcohol, and her sore ankle, she was ready to just say screw everything and go to bed. But Greg was perched like a very inquisitive, slightly harassed bird against her window, and she was loathe to leave him, especially if it meant waking up to find he’d gone. “What do your elf eyes see, Legolas?” she muttered, snickering to herself when Greg made a noise of annoyance. “Seriously, Greg, what on earth are you doing?”

“The road crew just showed up,” he announced softly. “Shhh.”

Molly grunted and shifted, turning on to her side. “Why are you suddenly interested in them?” She felt a bit hurt that he had so easily dismissed her worries about the now-vanished center, even though, logically, she knew he was right and there was little he could do about it. She wondered if she was just offended that, on some level, he was more interested in a bunch of noisy, sweaty workers than in her. She didn’t have much time to contemplate though, before Greg uttered a soft curse and a laugh. 

“Wait here,” he murmured, “I’ve got ‘em.”

Molly struggled to sit up as Greg jogged from her flat, already pulling out his phone. She could hear him waking up Gregson as he thumped down the stairs before she could even make it off the sofa. Limping, Molly made her way to the window and creaked it open with the ancient crank. Below, she saw Greg emerge and head towards one of the men wearing a high-visibility vest. She couldn’t quite make out what was being said, but by the looks of things, he was brandishing his warrant card. Like ants, the road crew suddenly scattered, bright colored vests fluttering to the ground in their wake. Greg’s shout of surprise echoed up to Molly’s window and she squeaked in shock when he lunged, tackling one of the men to the ground. “What’s happening?” she called down. 

“Stay inside for now,” Greg replied, breathless. “And put on some shoes! You have to come to the station!”

*** 

Gregson had made her bring everything associated with the senior center but wouldn’t tell her why. Greg had gone with one of the pandas, taking the man he’d tackled in the back while one of the uniforms drove, leaving Molly to ride with Gregson and his partner, a very nervous-looking man Molly privately called Spots since that was his only distinctive feature. They left her waiting in an interview room for at least an hour before someone appeared with coffee and a stale pastry. Another hour passed and Gregson stuck his head in to ask if she knew any foreign languages. She admitted to know some French and taking a spin with Gaelic when she was a teenager, and she was conversational in Welsh. He’d uttered a vaguely annoyed sound, nodded, and left her alone again. Finally, near dawn, Greg arrived. Molly had tried to think of what to say, should he come back to see her, and all of the long paragraphs she’d concocted boiled away and left her with, “What the Hell?”

He smiled, tired, and sat across from her. “This is better,” he said, producing a slightly grease-stained bag from his jacket pocket and depositing it on the table in front of her. “Pastry from the French place down the way. I sent Gregson to get it after I found out he’d tried to pawn off one of the stale ones from downstairs on you.”

“Greg,” she said, her tone warning, “tell me what the Hell is going on, or I swear to whatever god is listening that I will scream. My foot is killing me, I think that burger may have given me heart burn, and I am tired of being treated like a mushroom by the men I know!”

“Kept in the dark and fed bullshit,” Greg muttered, smiling thinly. “Sorry, Molls, that wasn’t my intent. Things happened so fast, and I didn’t even think the two were connected, but...” he sighed again, and raked his fingers through his silvery hair. “Right. So. That wasn’t a road crew in front of your flat, Molly. That was a large scale robbery. The building used to be one of those fancy regency town-homes ,yeah?” When she nodded, he continued, “Back when it was converted thirty years ago, lot of the old fittings were tucked away in the lower floor, down where the kitchens used to be, and the old root cellars. The road crew was responsible, only back then, they weren’t a road crew. They were a private contracting firm, run by a fellow named Spaulding.”

“...what?”

“Mmm. Spaulding and his crew, some thirty years back, fully intended to take all the antique bits and bobs away with them. Fittings, some actual old appliances, bits of treasure they’d found left in the original home. Even panels off the walls! But,” he said, leaning back and closing his eyes, exhausted, “they got caught out. They were fired by the home owners. Most of them left the area, some of them got arrested for theft but the goods were never all found.” 

“So they’d come back to get them now?”

“Spaulding is dying,” Greg said. “And he wanted to finish his big score. Got most of the old gang back together, added in some new faces to do the grunt work, and set about it.” He laughed bitterly, adding, “If they’d cleaned up their mess, they probably wouldn’t have been caught. I wouldn’t have noticed, for one, and people would’ve complained about the noise but they had the right look, the right demeanor...” he trailed off, yawning.

She swallowed down the urge to scream, feeling embarrassed and angry for not noticing something literally right under her own nose. Still, though, she thought, that had nothing to do with the knitting and the senior center that Gregson had so much interest in when he picked her up… “So what does this have to do with me?”

“That,” he said, “is where it gets downright baroque. You said your new super is Dr. Ross?”

The blood drained from her face. “No.” _A second time! Someone used me a second time!_

“He’s one of Spaulding’s old cronies. Out of the five people that live in your block of flats, you were the only one home on Tuesdays and Thursdays, the days they’d arranged to have the goods transferred after a night of digging. He admitted to learning from Edwina that you’re an avid knitter, and he and Spaulding hatched this cockamamie plan with the senior center. The old ladies you were teaching to knit? Those were the wives and girlfriends of the gang members. The gang would dig all night, then, during the day, have a mover show up with a van and take away whatever they’d managed to retrieve. They were almost done. Last night was their last round, apparently.” He paused, opened one eye and smiled thinly. “And they would’ve gotten away with it, too, if it hadn’t been for us meddling kids.”

“But, the knitting...” Molly shook her head. “I don’t understand!”

“The pattern you were using,” Greg sighed. “Spaulding and Ross were having the class knit up orders for their crew. The blankets weren’t going to a children’s hospital but directly into the hands of the workers. The pattern was some variant on Norse runes.”

Molly didn’t know whether to laugh, scream, cry, or throw something. It all burst out in a shrill, breathless giggle that ended in a sob. “Twice! Fucking _twice_ I’ve been used by a fucking criminal! What is it about me?” She shoved herself to her feet and started pacing, clutching her arms about her middle as if they could hold back the tide of anger swelling to crash out of her. “I’m just trying to be happy! I just want to live my damned life! Is it because I had a thing for Sherlock? Is that it? I learned my lesson a year ago, at least, after that batty sister of his! What the Hell was _that_ about? So three times, eh? Three times now! Jim,” she stopped to tick off on her fingers, “the bat shit crazy Holmes sister used me, and now this!” She dropped back into her seat and buried her face in her arms atop the table. “I give up. I just fucking give up.” She didn’t move as Greg came to stand beside her, his hands settling on her shoulders. “Just let me be mortified in peace, Greg!”

“Let me take you home.”

“No. I can’t stand the idea of seeing the mess out front and knowing what was going on! It’s no mass murder but it’s just so damned stupid and I was used and--”

“To mine,” Greg interrupted. “Come back to mine. I did just get the guest room all spiffed up,” he added with a weak chuckle. “Come on. We’re both tired. Let’s go back to mine, sleep a bit, I’ll even make you a proper breakfast before I have to come in and deal with this bullshit. And you can get that foot looked at,” he added. 

Molly hesitated for a very long moment, then shifted to sit up. “Okay,” she sniffed. “Okay. And later, I’m going to just build myself a giant bubble and go live inside it forever because I think that’s going to be the only way to avoid people who decide I’m an easy mark.”

“Or,” Greg said carefully, helping her too her feet and not quite meeting her eyes, “you could, I don’t know, date a cop. I hear having a cop for a boyfriend is a great way to scare off criminals and arseholes.”

Molly’s breath caught in her throat. Marshaling the last shreds of her self confidence for the day, she tipped her chin up and asked, “Detective Inspector, are you asking me on a date?”

“Well, I’m asking you on several dates. As many as would be feasible.”

She felt her lips tug into a smile before she knew what was happening. “Oh. Well, then...” She sniffed and leaned against him, letting him help her hop towards the elevator from the interview room. “If this is all it took to get you to ask me out, I should’ve steered into this skid ages ago.” 

Greg’s laugh was loud and long, startling the overnight shift to wakefulness as the elevator doors slid closed.


End file.
